on!’ Niall barked after him. ‘If you do this you won’t be regarded as part of this family any more! This is the last time I’ll be talking to you.’
Once there was a time when Sean had worshipped his big brother, but with Niall become so judgmental and strait-laced, all respect vanished in a trice. Still walking, he flung a nonchalant reply over his shoulder. ‘I’ll consider meself told then.’
His threat so blithely unheeded, Niall strangled his intended retort, wasted no time standing there fulminating, but returned to his womenfolk, immediately to form a pact of war.
Henceforth, the women took it in turns to stand by the parlour window, noting what time Sean left and what time he returned, no matter how late. Even whilst detesting such methods, Niall was to play his part too, refusing to speak to his brother and darting him arrows of contempt whenever they came face to face.
It was a measure of their combined depth of loathing, their desire to arrest Sean’s wicked descent, that these tactics were to be maintained for eight tense weeks. Until, one Friday evening in late August, when a day of high wind had already whipped up tempers, the lid of restraint was about to be blown clean off: Sean arrived home with his scarlet woman in tow.
Following the collective gasp of outrage, Nora blurted, ‘He can’t do that – that’s our Evelyn’s house!’
But Sean could and did proceed to escort the woman right to his threshold, both of them laughing as the wind swept her hair from back to front so that it totally obscured her face, then whipped Sean’s cap into the street, causing him to make an acrobatic leap for it, before they finally managed to slam the door.
His mother-in-law was almost apoplectic over this presumption. ‘Well, I’m not having it!’ Heaving her solid carcass forth, surprising nimble of foot, she rushed outside to stand on the pavement and glare, closely followed by her daughters, all bracing themselves against the gale, whilst their hair was whipped and their pinafores billowed and ruffled, and paper flew all about the street.
Unable to see how this would help matters, Niall chose to remain indoors, as disgusted as the rest, though not so vocal. But no matter that Sean and his lady friend had gone inside, Nora and her deputies were to brave the elements for extra moments, standing firm and Medusa-like in the gale, so as those looking out could be under no illusion.
‘They’ll have to come out sometime,’ declared Ellen, eyes narrowed and watering, arms folded under her indignant bosom, whilst her clothes flapped about her.
‘What if they don’t?’ enquired Dolly, the least forceful of them, trying to keep a wisp of hair from her mouth. ‘What’ll we do then?’
‘They’ll have to!’ From inside, Niall heard his wife reiterate.
‘Not if she stays the night.’ When they all turned to frown at her, Dolly explained quickly, ‘Well, if she’s the type of brazen article who takes up with a man whose wife’s barely cold, she’ll hardly have qualms about anything else.’
‘Just let her try it!’ Nora propelled this verbal gauntlet at the wall of the house opposite, before leading the return indoors to maintain her surveillance in comfort. ‘I’ll be over there and drag her out by her frizzy hair.’
Inwardly balking at such a bad example for a grandmother to set the children, Niall sought to distract them, especially the older ones, who were exchanging knowledgeable looks of concern.
‘Is that your homework you’re trying to do on the edge of that newspaper?’ Recently turned twelve, Honor was seated at the table chewing the end of a pencil, as if more concentrated on the row from outside.
She broke away from her trance and went back to studying the pencilled words that were crammed into the white border around the newsprint. ‘No, I’m just making a list of my sins for confession.’
Her father smiled. ‘I thought school had run out of money for books. Sins, eh? You’d better get a bigger piece of paper then, all the things you’ve been up to.’
Her serene posture was cracked by a laugh of quiet outrage. ‘Dad, stop it, you’re putting me off!’ Then her face became serous again as she tried to recall every offence committed during the week, for an imperfect confession meant damnation.
‘Sorry.’ Her father smiled and stopped teasing her, knowing how seriously she viewed the act of confession. Then he turned his attention to three-year-old Brian, who was pressed to one of his knees, unnerved by the howling of the wind through the gaps in the windows, and he pulled the child onto his lap. ‘Don’t worry, Bri, it’s just the silly old wind making that noise – you know like your dad makes when he’s eaten pea soup.’
There was collective laughter from his children.
‘That doesn’t hurt you, does it?’ reasoned Niall.
‘I don’t know about that, Dad,’ laughed Dominic, holding his nose.
‘Oy, mister!’ His father levelled a threatening finger, but his eyes were full of fun. ‘You want to watch it or I’ll be confiscating all of that five bob you’ve lined up for yourself tomorrow, instead of letting you keep some of it.’
Dominic adopted a non-comprehending frown. ‘Don’t you mean half a crown?’ He would be performing his duties as altar boy at a wedding ceremony.
‘I mean five bob!’ Niall was stern but amused. ‘I happen to know there are two weddings tomorrow – thought you’d pulled the wool over me eyes, didn’t you? Well, think again! You’ll have to get up early to hoodwink your dad.’ He projected a grin of rebuke at his son who, in feature, took after Ellen’s side of the family, and could be sly, but was redeemed by possession of a charming smile, which bounced back at Niall now.
‘I only just found out myself there was another wedding!’ protested Dom with a laugh.
Momentarily reassured by the smiling banter, Brian rested his head on his father’s chest, though his ears still adhered to the external noises – as did Juggy’s.
‘Has Uncle Sean been naughty?’ she finally dared to ask.
‘That’s none of your business,’ retorted a stern father, but Niall felt the sharp eyes of his eldest son on him, and, annoyed at Sean for putting him in this position, sought to let Dominic know, without giving too much away, that this was no way for a man to behave. ‘Suffice to say that a man’s good name is everything,’ he declared to all.
‘I think Doran’s a good name,’ mused Juggy, kneeling by the fire and cradling her doll. ‘Though I’d quite like to be called Pretty – that’s what they call the girl who sits next to me in class.’
Niall responded with a chuckle and a compliment. ‘You don’t need to be called Pretty when you’re already pretty.’
‘Father didn’t mean it sounded good,’ Honor broke off her list of sins to explain quietly to her little sister. ‘He meant that when people hear your name they think of you with respect, for the way you behave, and that you’ve got nothing to be ashamed off.’ She looked to Niall for confirmation, and when he gave a pleased nod, she added, ‘And Father’s got a very good name.’
‘So, is it the lady what’s got the bad name?’ persisted Juggy, having received more than an inkling from the angry voices that competed with the gale outside.
Her
